Tremaine

The Woeful Demise of Polzeath Tremaine.

Once – long ago on a west facing shore,
There was a boy who was busy, with many a hard chore.
Once done he could go and play with his mates,
And possibly, even, ask girls out on dates.

Polzeath Tremaine is the name he was given,
And he lived with his parents in the town of Bodridden.
As normal a family as you’d ever encounter,
But Polzeath had a natural ability to flaunter.

The village was plagued by the wrath of a giant,
A huge brutish guy with the yell of a tyrant.
‘Bring me some food!’ He’d bellow out loud,
‘My belly is grumbling’ and so gathered the crowd.

They’d bring sheep, cows, pigs and chickens by the hundred.
He gobbled them down in unspeakably large numbers.
And then he’d sleep – but not on the ground,
His head on the church and his feet on the town.

A hero was needed so they sent out a plea,
And soon one appeared, for now we’ll call him Lee.
He battled all day, and he fought him all night,
For over a week. Soon the crowds past out of site.

Now we return to Polzeath, who was walking that day,
Past the battled ground, where he’d stop and stay.
When suddenly, Lee gave one almighty roar,
And the giant was quiet – but then Polzeath saw,

Him sway to the right, and then to the left,
And then one large cry that would deafen the deaf.
He fell – onto Lee, squashing him flat,
Polzeath went and looked, stunned – he was defiantly that!

The villagers heard the cry and came out,
Once dust had cleared – they witnessed the grubby lout.
And there by his head, a small child stood.
Of course they assumed, I think most people would,

That he had done what no-one else could.
‘Child now tell me, and the truth if you would.
Are you responsible for this giants demise?’
Polzeath answered quickly, a glint in his eyes.

‘Yes’ He said and the whole crowd then gasped,
‘I did it, not Lee, he did not last’
And from that moment on Polzeath and his folks,
Were paraded round town, carried by blokes.

Hailed a hero, and his name travelled far,
Gifts from around were sent in by cart.
Jewels and money and expensive clothes,
Food and animals and girls by the load.

One summers day, the mayor woke them up,
Banging and shouting, Polzeath was out of luck.
‘Quick , we need you’ The mayor huffed and puffed,
‘Come quick, it’s a nightmare, we really are stuffed.’

Polzeath was intrigued, perhaps more honeration,
But then to his horror and complete desperation,
He saw with a jolt and knew at once what was done.
There looking for Polzeath, was the giant mans mum.

‘Where is the hero that murdered my boy,
I’m gonna boil his bones and take away his joy.
He’ll pay for what he did, or this village will fall,
He took my poor Neville, left only his ball’

‘Now’ the mayor said, ‘Do it again, be strong,
She’s smaller than the last so it shouldn’t take you long.’
Polzeath was frozen, there on the spot,
This really could be the last, the end, the stop.

If he told the truth, he’d be left on his own,
He’d be hated and beaten and his parent would moan.
If he went out to fight, well, it’s plain to see,
That he’d be squashed in an instant, he felt as small as a flea.

But the decision was made, without a second glance,
He was pushed out in front and given a lance.
And before he could duck, before a plea he could make,
The last thing he saw, her foot, he was flat as a pancake.

The woeful demise of Polzeath Tremaine,
His leftover scooped up and washed down the drain.
And all he had to do was tell the truth,
All his parents got back, was his last remaining tooth.

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